The Waiting Game

The Tenth Letter

“It’s him,” I whispered.

That was all it took to break Devon Mueller.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled shakily, his hands coming up to grip tightly at his hair. The letters he had been holding fell to the ground and my gaze flickered to them momentarily before I looked back at the man falling apart before me, someone only five years older than me but looking so much younger in this moment of weakness. He doubled over a little bit, looking like he was going to be sick. “Oh my God. It’s him. It’s Holden.”

I flinched at the sound of his name but recovered quickly. I kneeled in front of Devon, not saying anything, looking up at his face. He was completely expressionless, but his eyes were filled with cold terror.

A shiver rolled down my spine at the sight. I bit my lip against showing it but I felt it, deep in my stomach.

“Devon?” I whispered.

“How come you didn’t tell me?” he demanded, looking at me finally. “You knew all this time that he was sending these letters to you and you never told me. You never mentioned it to anyone.”

“I didn’t think that people would do well with knowing,” I explained slowly, making a face. “Look at how you’re reacting now. If I wouldn’t have been able to prove it to you, you never would have believed me. You wouldn’t have been able to understand what I went through every time I found one of those envelopes in my mailbox, waiting for me like a little piece of him lingering behind.”

We both cut our eyes to the fallen papers. We both immediately looked away.

“This is so messed up,” Devon groaned, burying his head in his hands. I remembered back to when Norman had done the same thing only days ago but quickly shook the image free from my mind, knowing that there were hardly any likenesses between him and Devon, even if there were more than I would like to believe.

Cautiously, I reached toward him. Millimeters away from touching him, I let my hand drop uselessly, sighing.

“What did he say to you that’s got you so freaked out?”

“The fact that I just got a letter from my dead little brother is enough to shake me up,” he replied smartly but I could tell he was lying. The corner of his mouth twitched when he lied.

I frowned.

“He put your letter inside of mine. Asked me when I was done reading to come by and bring it to you.” He ran another hand through his hair, staring at me with those same eyes I would always know as belonging to him. “My dead little brother has me running fucking errands for him.”

“Stop saying that,” I snapped before I could stop myself. I bit down on my lip.

“Stop saying what?” Devon stared at me, his eyes flashing dangerously. “It’s true. Holden is dead. It’s not my fault that you can’t even bring yourself to say his name.”

I flinched. That hurt.

“So what else has he gotten you doing?” Devon demanded a little harshly. “Seems like he’s got you wrapped around his finger even in death; what could he possibly be asking you to do?”

“A lot of things,” I offered unhelpfully. He scowled.

“He told me that he was trying to help you,” Devon said. “That what he is doing with these letters is to help you do something. He didn’t say what.”

“He . . .” I trailed off. I closed my eyes, pain flashing through my chest. “He wants to teach me how to let go of him.”

Silence.